Of Peaches and Logic
by Starships-are-meant-to-die
Summary: Leonard Mccoy had a love for peaches, for the taste, texture and memory. He'd always tasted of peaches during certain points of his life, too. Here's a drabble of vague points in which the fruit plays a part.


Peaches.

That had always been Leonard's favorite fruit. A tad stereotypical for a man of where he'd originated, but only if one preferred to think of it in that manner.  
He loved the sweet juices that followed as he bit into the soft fruit, so easy to chew. The man had adored the fruit for its reminder of his home, his days as a child, climbing the peach trees to retrieve the delightful food with an orange-yellow hue. How sweet they tasted in a cobbler or any dessert for that matter.

And for some coincidental reason, for each meaningful kiss he'd shared, each time, the country doctor had always tasted of peaches. A subtle taste of course, if one could get past the faint taste of alcohol or whatever he'd eaten, fruit aside.

Leonard stopped eating peaches after his divorce with Jocelyn. He no longer wanted a tasty reminder of home. The place he once knew, now bearing his heartache. Heartache for his first love and for his child. Who he wasn't going to get the chance to see mature, who he couldn't watch progress into a successful young woman.

He ran, and he ran far. Out into the stars, only a flask of whiskey, what remained of his belongings and the taste of peaches in his mouth.

The Enterprise's replicators never spewed the damn things out correctly anyway.  
They were too bright, jubilant. The taste just too sweet, and the texture too smooth. The fruit was too firm, and he gave up when he had decided to indulge one last time.

That had been before he'd gotten himself drunk and kissed Spock. _Him, _of all people to kiss, it had to be the Vulcan. The one man who pissed him off to no end with his goddamned logic, that overbearing wide range of vocabulary, with that calculating stare. Who felt the need to comment on his use of strong emotion in matters that were too serious for him not to show concern in. What gave him the fucking right?

But there he was, lips pressed against the other males. There had been nothing sweet about the kiss at all, even with the Vulcan's cooperation. Teeth clacking against teeth, hands roaming, grabbing at every revealed bit of skin, each side in a tangle for dominance, none in the doctor's favor.  
In that kiss, Spock could taste peaches, his heightened senses allowed it, called for it. They did not go farther than kissing on that night, the raw display of emotion from both sides to be discussed at a later time.  
Yet, they had somehow fallen into bed with each other that night, limbs tangled as both parties drifted into unconsciousness.

And that was what kicked off the inevitable bonding of the two. There had been no love at first sight, a meaningful bond in every sense had taken time, much time indeed. Love was not a repetitive term between the two, having needed to vocalize it would be ridiculous.  
But then again, every once and while, it was nice.

It was nice until that day.  
The Enterprise went into red alert. The sirens blared as the crew scrambled to their stations, decks now aware of the imminent threat.  
Medical bay had been struck first, no air. That was what had been the most prominent thing, everyone scrambling to get away from the damaged areas before being sucked out.  
Leonard got away, and was it by miracle?  
Of course not, no such things existed. Debris had struck him through the chest, and it had been a wonder how he hadn't died immediately, how he hadn't gone into shock, nor cardiac arrest.  
Spock wasn't alerted until they had failed in stabilizing the good doctor. He was dying, losing blood faster than anticipated. They had to go and try to remove the debris, and he hemorrhaged, right as Spock entered the remnants of a medical area.  
He went unconscious, his form pale and shirt covered in bed, along with the surface they propped him on.

There was no way he was making it out alive, a fact that everyone present was aware of. That's exactly why they let Spock walk over to the man.  
He had not run, his steps were cold, and calculating. The only hint of his despair being displayed in his eyes, all too human.  
He pressed his fingers to the meld points of the man's face, before initiating said meld before it'd been too late. It was his only link of communication, the brain was not yet dead.

"_It's cold, Spock."_  
_  
"I am aware, Leonard… You must rest now."  
_  
_"I can sleep when I'm dead, Spock. I'm gonna be alright, I've gotta be. Who the fuck's gonna manage everyone in sickbay? Who's gonna manage Jim, who's gonna put up a good fight with you when we go at it?"_

"_I apologize, ashayam… Please, I wish for you to be at peace. Rest now."_

"_I'm dyin', aren't I?"_

"_Yes."_

"_No… Fuck, it's gettin' colder in here..."_

The Vulcan sent warmth through their bond, fingers still placed at the meld points, features placed in deep concentration.

"_You shall no longer be cold... Your pain will cease, I will only allow the best for you in these moments."_

"_I've got a request, darlin'..."_

"_What is it?"_

"_Kiss me, before I die, yeah?"_

"_Of course."_ Without warning, the link severed. Spock's eyes snapped open, gazing upon the form of the man who'd been taking his last breaths.

To fulfill his request, he leaned down, and pressed a soft kiss to the southern man's lips.

And then, he'd been no more. Leonard ceased breathing, and their bond snapped completely, filling the Vulcan with anguish, pain, longing. Memory of the other flooded through him, and the slightest detail had brought his steady façade to a collapse.

Leonard tasted of peaches.


End file.
